


A Passion Greater Than Himself   (Rose of Tralee)

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Something a bit different.) Set several lonely years in the future, after the events of Connor’s abduction, a strange and twisted tale of forgiveness denied and the consequence of vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Passion Greater Than Himself   (Rose of Tralee)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Notes: Wes/Other Wes/Angel implied ( // indicate memories)

 

~*~*~*~*~

He would come for her soon.

She could feel it in her bones, and she wrapped her arms around herself, huddled on the floor in a corner of the bedchamber. Her eyes passed over the room for what seemed the hundredth time, the canopy bed wrapped in gold damask with spindled posts, tapestries from the orient adorning the floors and walls, the scenes depicted valiant conquests in faraway lands; their brilliance assaulted her eyes and she squeezed them shut. Memories seeped along the edges of her mind.

The logs on the hearth popped and she gave a start, turned in the direction of the heavy wooden door, bolted, she knew, still that didn’t stop her from trying, repeatedly, to pry it open; her nails bloody and raw from her efforts.

He said she had pretty hands. A lady’s hands…

She clutched her arms and her nails dug into her flesh, leaving a trail of blood that went unnoticed. Her gaze traveled to the window where heavy brocade drapes hung in graceful folds; their elegance concealed the bars that lay beyond. Bars she clutched until her hands were callused. The world outside was fresh and new, lush forests and skies of blue, summer blue…like his eyes.

Her throat was raw. Barely a whisper remained of a voice that once could charm the birds, or so the patrons said as sweetly she sang, night after night, to the men who watched her, their eyes aglow with adoration. Their little songbird, they called her.

Race to the window, seize the bars, scream until they hear you!

But only an echo of her voice remained. Isolated and alone, the manor house lay miles from any other estate and no one would dare to traverse the grounds belonging to its master. Dejected, she dropped her head.

Her hair fell in a veil that covered her face, her ivory cheeks, her haunted eyes of emerald green that sparkled with delight when they lit upon the stranger who strolled into her father’s pub, weeks ago, and into her life, a gentleman more fair than any other. An Englishman, no less, who ventured to this emerald isle to pick a tender Rose of Tralee. Her mum would be appalled to see her smitten so with a man of English blood. His eyes of blue whispered of summer days spent lying on a hillside, wisps of clouds strewn across the sky. His smile chased the shadows from her heart.

//“Your talent stirs the embers of my soul,” he breathed. “Fly away with me… if only for a night.”//

Her heart soared. The dark waves of his hair caught the light’s subtle glow. His leather coat, draped over a shirt of royal blue silk, caressed his broad shoulders and tapered down his slim back; it flowed in gentle rhythm to his movements. Mesmerizing. With sensuous lips, he smiled. 

Falling into forever, her soul was lost in the innocence of his angelic face.

//A rosewood harp, scrolled with floral motifs; its polished glow beckoned in the firelight. “Sing for me.” His hands caressed the rich wood as he drew her near, pressed his cool lips to her brow. “Irish rose.”//

//She sank to the floor at his feet, rested her cheek against his thigh…//

She slept on the floor.

For how many days, she could no longer remember. The bed was mahogany. It dominated the room; its sheets were of spun silk, its blankets and quilts, golden damask trimmed in purple brocade. Swan-feather pillows rested against the headboard, warm and inviting, luxury of which she never dreamed. She cringed and looked away.

Never of her own free will would she lie upon that bed.

//His elegant hands caressed her, their touch like silk whispered over her skin, explored the hills and valleys of her form as her dress slipped away beneath those hands and pooled to the floor at their feet. Silver light swept through the window, basking them in blue. His slender body caught the light, pale beyond belief, as he whisked this clothing aside. She held her breath when he reached for her, pushed her gently to the mattress, into the cool sheets…//

She swore his secret was safe!

//“Free me, I beg you!” Terror seized her. “Whatever fetish possesses you shall never pass my lips!’//

//Eyes of amber, pale shadows of blue consumed in the flame. The beauty of his face twisted by lust she was powerless to comprehend. His strong, lean body pressed on top of her, crushed her into the pallet, stealing her body as well as her soul; his lips caressed her flesh. And his teeth…//

//Holy Mother of God. His teeth!//

//Images swam into her mind (his memories?) of battles fought, a hundred fold against the darkest foes, then innocents, crushed in the bitter rage of his anguish, memories no mortal could contain. Where did they come from? What did they mean? Faces. A dark eyed man cloaked in black, face twisted in rage beneath a heavy brow, a dark haired woman, thin and doe-eyed at his side. Passion. Lust. He loathed them both -- Desired them both. And blood. Always. Its crimson power consumed him, burned into his every waking thought.//

//Torn and bleeding, her dress ripped away, she lay crumpled in the sheets, frozen with terror. The way he claimed her body defied any normal, carnal union of which she knew. Was such ravagement rape? He rose to his feet and stepped back from the bed, looked down at the carnage his lust had wrought, then looked away.//

//“I swear to you, sir, I shall not speak of this to anyone!”//

//Silence met her pleas. Her heart pounded in her ears, echoed into the tempest of her thoughts as she gathered the remnants of her dress to her breasts with trembling hands, fought to conceal her nakedness, and the trickle of blood dripping from a tender nipple where he’d nursed her like a child.//

//A hellish infant from a demonic womb.//

//He reached for his duster, swept it across his shoulders, rustling his darkened curls that cast his face in boyish charm. “You’ll find a gown in the chest.” He motioned toward the ironbound box resting at the foot of the bed. “And several others, designed by the couturieres de Paris, no less. I imagine they should suit you.”//

//“I want to go home!”//

//He moved to the door, his hand on the bolt, and turned. A whisper of light struck an illusion of sadness in his eyes.//

//“I beg you, sir!//”

//As it slid into place, the bolt echoed forlornly in his wake.//

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

She sat huddled in a corner of the chamber on the floor, her body bruised and torn from his nightly passions. Her nails dug into her arms, cut deep, as her eyes locked on the shadows lengthening along the floor. The waning light of day crept with slanted tentacles through the crevices of the draperies; its purple light warned of nightfall…

And his nocturnal arrival.

Her eyes passed to the bed and squeezed shut. Her fingers fluttered to the angry marks that marred her slender neck, others concealed beneath the bodice of her gown, rose to haunt her memory. The touch of his slender hands, the brush of his lips, the icy-heat of his passion as he fed from the fount of her essence, drained the blush of her youth even as his thoughts betrayed the awe in which he held her, cherished the very flame his unnatural lust sought to extinguish. Such madness defied reason.

//He lifted her skirt, though she fought him, pressed his mouth to the softness of her thighs, nuzzled the down at the arch of her legs with his cheek, sank his fangs into her flesh. Ecstasy burned in her loins.//

//She blushed in shame and anger.//

//His tongue traced across her thighs, over her stomach that quivered beneath his stroke, to the fullness of her breasts. His fangs pierced her flesh, nursed, and she arched against him – powerless, fought for consummation of the waves of desire that crested as he fed. Such aberration. She moaned, pulled his trim body close, and stroked desperately against his leg in rhythm to the draught drawn from her veins, rode the passion until it claimed her, consumed her as she sought her own release…//

//His hand found her buttocks, crushed her close as she ground against him. He encouraged her efforts, drew excitation from her arousal until it depleted her in breathless release. She lay trembling against his chest, ignored the smile that traced his lips as he breathed, “You betray yourself, little Rose.”//

//Such depravity.//

//It burned her cheeks with rage.//

A crystal vase rested on the iron table next to the window, within the vase, a bouquet of roses – blood red; their beauty adorned the room. 

A gift from her enamored suitor? 

But her mind saw only thorns. Among the plush petals, crimson dripped in her mind’s eye; it devoured her waning sanity.

“I shall perish in this place among the rich tapestry, the elegance of gold that gilds the draperies, a living adornment amidst the squander of such trappings.”

A wild Irish rose captured in a crystal vase.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

His unholy kisses claimed her flesh, drawing the life from her veins. He never sought to take her body as a mortal man might, but once. Though there was nothing of normalcy in the perversion of the act…

//Her cheek pressed into the swan-feather pillows. Fear. Humiliation. Moonlight painted the angular shadows of his gaunt face as his body forced her down.//

//Finding courage she thought was extinguished by despair; she fought his degradation. Kicking and crying out in pain against an unholy penetration no woman would permit, more twisted than his usual demonic kiss that marred her flesh in places no man’s lips had ever touched.//

//Her pleas went unheeded as he destroyed another of the gowns he forced her to wear night after night. Slender yet unnaturally strong fingers ripped the elaborate fabric, gripped and bruised her flesh, forced her onto her stomach.//

//Her screams echoed through the chamber, unheeded, till suddenly she cried out, weeping like a babe for her, “Mum!”//

//He froze.//

//The hands gripping her body fell away and she scampered from his grasp, pushed herself against the headboard – eyes wide. Stunned as much by what almost happened as the sight of her captor kneeling naked atop the silken sheets, alabaster face stricken with remorse, eyes of clear blue, devoid of amber, burning in their depths as they stared wide – shocked - into her own.//

//Shame?//

//The subtle light caressed the pale thin form, unnaturally white, a being of great beauty twisted by evil who now seemed broken; deceptively frail limbs quivering.//

//She reached out a trembling hand…//

//And he was gone.//

//Three days of lonely hunger followed, fear twisting in her gut that she would die here, alone, a shrunken hollow corpse. When suddenly, he returned, saying nothing of that night or his absence as if it never happened. But never again did he seek to ravage her body with anything beyond the perversion of his demonic kiss.//

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Fresh roses arrived each night, an offering in his hands. Replenishing the still fragrant blooms from the evening before, he would sweep them aside, heedless of their vibrancy, toss them into a trash bin, and place their replacements on the table next to the window. Drawing the curtains wide, he welcomed the light of a star-filled sky that filtered in, basking the room in its deceptive romantic glow. His elegant refinement was a twisted parody of a cultured suitor seeking to set the mood for his beloved.

Remembering, she huddled deeper into herself, arms clasped tightly with trembling hands, and studied last night’s offering of blood-red roses resting on the table, even as she fought to hold the memories of two nights past at bay…

//“Free me! I swear, I’ll tell no one of the perversion that torments you.”//

//Eyes of blue held her in their gaze. In their depths, a memory lingered, hidden even from himself, of summer days and sunshine on an up-turned face, visions of gallantry, a noble mission, battles dearly fought and won, friendships forged --- crushed upon the shores of fate.//

The heat of his kisses burned her still, even as her sanity fought to purge them and she huddled deeper into herself, drawing her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms tightly around them. An angel of light, Lucifer would appear as such, or so the Bible said, his beauty enhanced by the moon’s pale glow. Chiseled cheeks, dimpled chin. A latticework of scars finely traced over the marble of his skin, compelling in the tragedy of their beauty, lines that scripted an untold tale. 

Was he human once? 

The cool whisper of his gaze washed over her, night after night…until the amber flamed.

//She fell into the well of his torment, pulled into his memories as her essence seeped into his veins…//

//The face of a man, (demon?) his piercing eyes beneath a heavy brow – beckoned. A Celtic son of these fair shores, as surely as she was its lass. An act of vengeance, cruelly brought against a man who humbly sought contrition. Lulled by his promise, soothed by the deception of his touch that whispered to her tormenter of forgiveness; the demon in her captor’s thoughts defiled what once was faithful in the ultimate revenge…//

//Her captor laid in this creature’s arms a lifetime ago, beseeching absolution, believing it was granted in the purity of a kiss, even as the darkness claimed his immortal soul and laughter taunted through his blood.//

//Loathing weaved into desire as it mingled in her tormenter’s veins, called to him, compelled him, even now, to rejoin the source that spurned him–//

//His blood’s sire.//

//He desired this Irish rogue as surely as he craved the rose crushed unwillingly in his embrace. Hungered for, yet fled a passion greater than himself.//

Her vulnerable demonic suitor?

//His secrets bled into her soul, truth hidden from his heart in shame and anger, exposed by the light of her mortality. His lust for a creature who wished him everlasting torment and pain, a creature whose revenge stole his soul at the moment of his greatest ecstasy even as he sought forgiveness, believing it was at hand only to have his offer crushed and cast aside, body defiled and bloodied…//

//Cursed to wander the earth alone, child of vengeance, spawned as retribution by a creature who scorned her captor’s love…//

//The truth of this unholy passion lay concealed from her tormenter, deep within his silent chest. Still, its secrets whispered to her as he fed. A smile traced her mouth and she taunted, “You betray yourself, demon.”//

//Her blood blazed his cheeks and he turned away, hiding his face…//

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Her eyes crept to the bed and lingered on the wooden chest that rested at the foot. Once, it held the gown she wore and several others tattered by his cold embrace. Now, it lay empty. Closed tightly, its lid concealed the damage of her handiwork. He would never think her so clever as to break the boards in the bottom, remove a wooden plank…

Ingenuity born of desperation.

The dress she wore tonight was the last the chest contained.

The night before…

//Her fingers stroked the slender strings of the rosewood harp resting against her chest; its rich wood caught the light. Music soared as softly she sang for the man, his lanky frame reposed in a chair next to the blazing fireplace, long legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. A play of flickering light cast secrets across his pale countenance.//

//A whisper of the man he once was?//

//Sadness hid within the shadows of his eyes, flittered from her sight. A fleeting glimpse peered at her from within the visions revealed from his veins when he fed. Shamed by the lust that drove him to crush the fragile petals of her life, his Rose of Tralee. The revelation stunned her, this creature was no less a prisoner than she!//

//Regret?// 

//Could it be!? Could such a creature feel remorse?//

//“Free me!” She slipped to the floor at his feet, pressed her face against his thigh as hope sprang within her breast…//

//“Never!”//

//…and crashed upon the shores of fate.//

 

~*~*~*~*~ 

 

He would come for her soon.

The wooden plank lay hidden in the folds of her gown.

 

~~End


End file.
